Animal Farm Journal Entries and Poem
by XxXaishiteruXxX
Summary: A journal entry, poem, and diary entry written for an English assignment way back in early 2009. For the record, I got an 'A' for that assignment... Rated 'T' for mild death references.


**_AN: _**_So way back in early 2009, I had an English assignment to do on_ Animal Farm_ by _George Orwell_. Amongst some of my more ridiculous creations, I wrote a journal entry told from the P.O.V. of Benjamin, a poem, and a diary entry of Moses the Raven's. It is definitely not my best work, but seeing as there was nothing better to do than my Chemistry assignment, I decided to upload it them. If you do happen to find them even remotely okay and have read/watched or have a basic understanding of _Naruto_, feel free to check out some of my other fanfics :) In the meantime, here are my super small _Animal Farm_ drabbles._

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own _Animal Farm_. All rights go to _George Orwell_.

**__****XxXaishiteruXxX  
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_**Journal Entry:**_

**Monday-**

Life is hard, but despite this all the animals are happy. We all work hard but do not grudge effort or sacrifice for we all know that we are better off now than we were with Mr Jones. All of the work we now do is for our own benefit, not for the greed of the humans.

But it is still tiresome. We work 60 hours a week and Comrade Napoleon just announced that we may volunteer to work on Sundays, but those who don't will have their rations reduced. I would never mention it to anyone but Boxer and possibly Clover, but this seems hardly fair. If working on Sundays is a voluntary process, why then should there be a penalty for those who do not volunteer? Again I disagree with Boxer and his saying of "Napoleon is always right".

Speaking of Boxer, he seems to be the main thing keeping us going. The building of the windmill is a slow, laborious process. In the beginning we were at a loss to figure out how to break the rocks into suitable sized pieces. The only way seemed to be to use picks, but as none of the animals can stand on our hind legs, this proved useless. Eventually someone decided to push one of the big boulders off the edge of the quarry, effectively breaking the rock into smaller, more manageable sized blocks. This is easy enough, as is taking the broken rocks to the windmill. This is done by each and every animal taking the rocks off in either cart-loads, like Boxer and the other horses, or dragging the blocks like the sheep, or even as Muriel and I do; yoking ourselves to an old governess-cart and doing our share. Even all the pigs help during the hard times. Well, almost all the pigs. Napoleon and Squealer never help.

But through all the hardships, Boxer still goes on. His strength seems to be equal to that of all the other animals combined. Whenever a boulder slips and the rest of us cry out in despair, Boxer is always the one who strains himself against the rope and hauls the boulder to a stop. It is greatly admirable to see poor Boxer toiling up the slope inch by inch, his breath coming fast, the tips of his hoofs clawing at the ground and his great sides matted with sweat and dirt. Clover and I warn him to be careful and to not over-exert himself, but our pleas are always ignored. His constant chants of "Napoleon is always right" and "I will work harder" seem to him to be the answer to all our problems. Boxer has even made arrangements with the cockerel to wake him up half an hour earlier than everyone else so that he may get more work done. It seems that he is always at the quarry; he is the first to enter in the morning, the last to leave at night, and even spends what little spare time he has hauling rocks and dragging them, unassisted, to the windmill site.

**Sunday-**

This morning, Comrade Napoleon announced that Animal Farm will now be engaging in trade with neighbouring farms, but not, of course, for any commercial purpose, but simply in order to obtain those materials that are urgently needed. This means that Jessie and the other dogs can have their dog biscuits, nails can be bought for horse shoes, and other items of need can be acquired. But it also means that part of this year's crops, stacks of hay and many of the hen's eggs will be going to a Mr Whymper. Napoleon says that the hens should welcome this sacrifice as their own special contribution towards the building of the windmill. But something doesn't seem right. Maybe it has to do with the bottles of whiskey that were spotted earlier this evening.

**Wednesday-**

It is now November. The winds are strong and the rain means that it is too wet to mix cement. This news is bad, even more so than normal, because one rainy night two weeks ago, a great catastrophe occurred. Just as we were starting to get to sleep, a great sound like a gunshot went off. The next morning, we all rushed out of our stalls to find a terrible sight before our eyes. The windmill was destroyed! Napoleon was quick to announce that this was Snowball's doing, that the death sentence was to be placed upon his head, and a reward was to be offered to whoever found him. But I'm not too sure… After all, it was an extremely windy night.

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**Poem:**

_Twas a cold and bitter day,_

_When Napoleon did say,_

_That there were traitors amongst them all,_

_And for their actions, they must fall._

_For crimes had been committed,_

_As a sheep later admitted,_

_Under the influence of Snowball,_

_The greatest traitor of them all._

_At Napoleon's whimper the dogs then did leap,_

_And everyone then became too stunned to weep,_

_For animals were dead, there was blood everywhere,_

_But the dogs had the most; it was covering their hair._

_As a cry rang out throughout the farm,_

_Squealer announced to those in alarm:_

_Beasts of England would no longer be sung,_

_Instead "Animal Farm" would fill every lung._

_The animals felt strange as they sung every verse,_

_For the words of the song made them feel even worse._

"_Animal Farm, Animal Farm_

_Never through me shalt thou come to harm."_

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**_Diary Entry:_**

Sugarcandy Mountain is a wonderful place in the sky. As I flew over it, I saw all that was to be seen. I found myself growing eager to see more of the spectacular land that I knew nothing of. As I flew lower towards this wonderful sight, I found that I could go no lower than 500 metres above the highest peak of the mountain, just above the lowest cloud. As I tried anyway possible to gain access to the spectacular country, I heard a shout. There was someone there! I asked him where we were. 'Sugarcandy Mountain of course,' he replied. I then asked if there was any way I could enter the spectacular country. 'Of course there is a way to enter the country,' he replied. 'But you can't enter at the moment. You see, Sugarcandy Mountain is the land all good animals go to when they die. There is clover in season all year round, lump-sugar and linseed cakes grow on the hedges, and, best of all, there is no work for it is Sunday all year round.'

I was impressed. I thanked the person, and as I flew off, I realised that I did not even know his name. How was I to talk him when I finally got to enter Sugarcandy Mountain? For I had made up my mind. I was going to live at Sugarcandy Mountain, no matter what I had to do to get there. I would do anything to escape the terror I was to witness back at the farm.

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_**AN: **Like I said, not my best work. Thanks for reading anyway :) **XxXaishiteruXxX**_


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